For a Free Minecraftia- The Rewrite
by Kyanite Eirian
Summary: Tilly Glade's lost a brother to a place she has no idea exists, until the cliché of getting "sucked in" to Minecraft comes into play. This time, though, anyone can die and any kingdom can fall- is it possible for Tilly to survive the Second War and get back to Earth, with her friends and brother still beside her? T for violence and possible character death.
1. Awakening of the Order

**A/N: Some of you who have been around for ages might remember my first story, For a Free Minecraftia (which probably gained half its reviews due to the OC contest and not the actual writing)- rereading it, it's crap. Excuse my swearing, but it's crap.**

**Which is why I've decided to rewrite it. It probably still sucks, but hopefully not as much as before.**

**I've also changed a lot of things from here- for one, FaFM is ****_not _****a Yogfic anymore. Tilly no longer goes by a guy's name (unintentional, I swear), and only a few of the OCs I originally accepted will be used in this- Hugo, Eris, Will, Selene, the shadow thing (spoiler), and a few more if I can dig up the files I put them in. Spark will make a reappearance under a different name. A OC contest might happen in the future though. ^_^**

**The language that the evil guys speak in the beginning actually isn't keyboard mashing. It's Shorehkir, which will be explained in later chapters.**

**So I'd better just let you guys read the chapter now. XD**

* * *

**Chapter One- Uprising**

It was completely dark outside when the final block was put in place.

Hissing in satisfaction, a figure pulled out his flint and tinder and lit the inside of the structure- an obsidian portal frame towering metres into the air. The inside burst into flames for a second before settling to a screen like a warped violet sky. He retreated to a safe distance. The only sound then heard was the moaning of the mobs in the night.

A zombie shuffled over to the human, who nearly sliced its head off before realising who it was.

"Paher," he spat, pausing for a moment to cast a critical eye at the zombie. "Yehen tia borehmah ldorf..." The contempt was heard clearly in the man's voice, even in this foreign tongue. He paused for a moment, a wicked sneer distorting his features, before continuing berating the zombie. It was clear he enjoyed doing this.

The zombie started to interject but was cut off by a sharp "Tia nor!" This was obviously a command for silence, as the man put his finger horizontally across his lips.

The man's ears served him right. There seemed to be some kind of rustling on the other side of the portal- almost like somebody walking on grass. Only a human could've placed grass in Hell, and no human would ever _willingly_ go there unless they wished to die.

* * *

The portal wavered for a moment. A shadow flickered angrily at the edge of the cave, hidden from view, before it slipped behind the cave mouth and disappeared.

Another two creatures- a human and a large spider- leapt from the portal. The human had a lithe build and brown, roughly-cut hair, and was sporting heavy armour accompanied by the best of the weapons. He gave a short nod towards the zombie and a smile towards the other human, who returned with a sharp salute.

The spider was hideous- bulky, huge legs and fangs dripping with venom that seared holes in the ground. His four eyes were varying shades of green and red- the other four had been blown off his face by a stray block of TNT many years ago. Even Paher, his mob-kin, had to avert his eyes. The spider didn't seem to notice though. He started talking in the same language as the others had been earlier, though his voice had an edge that sounded like steel grating against steel.

"Zn cralin ahlee Brinreh jir Minecraftia..."

* * *

It was a cold, blistery morning that day in Ferivell as Tilly woke up. She closed her eyes again, pulling the blankets over her head in an attempt to block out the cold. It didn't work. The brunette wearily stretched and rubbed her eyes, and finally decided to leave the warmth of her bed. Slinging a jacket around her shoulders, she stuffed her feet into some warm slippers before making her way to the door, stumbling and tripping numerous times. She paused and glanced in the mirror, taking some time to hurriedly brush her shoulder-length hair and part it at the top. She grimaced at herself, her blue-gray eyes dull against her broad-nosed face.

Nobody was in the kitchen when she arrived, so she poured herself some cereal, added milk, and started eating. It tasted good - Tilly hated milk unless it was with cereal, and she hated cereal unless it was with milk. The two made a good combination, she had decided. She put the now-empty dish into the sink and made her way to the back door, which led to the woods surrounding Ferivell. Out of sheer boredom, her feet found her travelling the familiar paths through the forest.

She passed the property's boundary line and continued to trek on a wide path that she knew would take her to a place known as The Patch, a glade where four-leaf clovers seemed to grow as if by magic. Scanning the ground in front of her, Tilly couldn't find any four-leaved clovers today. Disappointed, she sat down on a log, rubbing her hands together and blowing on them. It was unusually cold today, cold even for England, but the skies were clear. Nobody was expecting any snow today. That was fortunate. Tilly was already half-frozen.

She lived in an English village which was founded sometime in the Middle Ages and was surrounded on all sides by a thick forest. The village was relatively small, having a population of only around two hundred; this mostly consisted of people whose families had lived there for centuries, like Tilly's, and medieval historians. The area was notorious for its many bandits.

After a while in which Tilly was nearly frozen to her log, she rose from the seat and continued exploring the woods. Her brain didn't register where exactly whe was going. Without really noticing where her feet were stumbling, her leg caught on a thicket of thorns.

Pain.

She rubbed her leg absentmindedly, her breath misting the air. She had heard there were some tourists in town- she would have to get back soon. Her mum worked as a tour guide. As a chore Tilly had to keep the kids of the visiting families entertained and safe- a difficult task, since half of them appeared to have some kind of mental disorder or was allergic to the sight of her. She had a look around the pine forest.

It seemed familiar. Very familiar- too familiar, though she could've sworn she hadn't been down that path for years.

And then it clicked.

_- 0 -_

"_Come on, Tillsy!" twelve-year-old Ethan Glade yelled over the babble of the creek nearby. He waited impatiently for his sister to catch up before complaining, "You're too slow! I could've run ages and you'd still be at The Patch."_

"_But you're older than me," Tilly protested. Her legs were aching from running so far and so fast. "And Mummy told us to not go past that stream. I'm telling!" In reality, she was just looking for an excuse to stop running- she was so tired._

_Ethan laughed. "I didn't go past the stream yet. We're just past The Patch, remember? This isn't even the stream! The real stream is, like, ages away from here." Tilly, finally remembering that this was, in fact, the brook which went around The Patch, scowled. _

_"Promise you won't run any more," she muttered._

"_Fine… Hey, sis, c'mere and look at this." Tilly ran over to where Ethan was standing in front of a tussle of a kind of thorny plant. "I'm sure there's something hiding here, do you want to look?"_

"_I don't know… the spiky things hurt. Remember when Ricky poked me and Claire with one?"_

_A pause in conversation._

"_Uh… no, but I'm looking anyway."_

_Tilly grabbed her brother's arm and tried to pull him away from the thorns, but he shrugged her arm off and lifted the bush anyway. __He was silent for a while, staring at whatever was inside the bush, until he finally spoke in a whisper._

"_Wow, Tilly," he breathed._

_Curious, Tilly crept over to where Ethan was standing, then recoiled. "Ethan, don't go in there! Bad stuff are there! We should tell Mummy!"_

"_Don't be stupid, this is obviously a prank." He put his hand inside the mist. Tilly tugged on his hand, trying to get him to stop._

_At that moment, he stepped into the portal, and a white light enveloped him. _

_"Ethan?" Tilly whimpered. But then her brother's shape began to shimmer, then disappeared._

_Tilly stood there for a long time. She was still little- too young to understand what was happening- and was too stunned to move or cry._

_Then suddenly, she took off through the woods for her home._

_- 0 -_

Slowly lifting up the thorns and fighting back nausea, Tilly looked inside. The portal was still there.


	2. Encra, Princess of Thrienne

**A/N: Thank you so much, Myriad of Pixels and Casaric, for your reviews and encouragement! :D**

* * *

**Chapter 2- Encra, Princess of Thrienne**

The portal was still there.

For a second, she was frozen, a strange tingling in the tips of her fingers as if the magic was writhing up through the air like a snake, curling around her arms and squeezing the life out of them.

Sounds and colours went dull, replaced by memories vivid as if they were real. Ethan was screaming something incomprehensible, fear warping his voice into the whisperings of a thousand before the portal took him. The unbroken chirps of the birds and the babbling of the stream sounded immediately after, as if nobody cared. The thorns were digging hard into Tilly's palms.

Abruptly Tilly dropped the bush and backed away, froze for a moment like she'd done when she was seven, and ran.

* * *

"You're here early. That's good." Elaine Glade, busy restacking a pile of tourist brochures, smiled over the counter at her daughter.

Tilly returned the smile rather wryly, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her hoodie. "Yeah, wouldn't want to miss looking after a busful of three-year-old kids with ADHD, Mum. Even if Mr Ryan's doing most the work." She paused. "How many today?"

The woman opened up a file on her computer and quickly counted the names on the list. Her lips formed each number she was up to. "Ten, I think. By no means is that a _busful_, Tilly, and most of them really are quite nice. Nick Cronkreight especially- he has the most _adorable _personality."

"... Sure."

Truth be told, Tilly was still a bit freaked out about the portal thing, which showed when she had to look after nine rowdy kids plus Nick Cronkreight (who was actually quite sweet.)

(Fortunately, she had a bit of help that day.)

"Who are _you_?" she asked, staring at the new guy as she walked in. Blonde, spiky hair; green eyes; tall. Very tall. He looked around her age- too old to be bunched in with all the other kids, and definitely old enough to go on tour.

"I'm Will. Nice to meet ya." He grinned, Canadian-ness seeping through his accent. "I'm helping out here for today, but you probably already know that."

"No, I don't, actually."

Mr Ryan, the guy who was actually employed to do this, peered over his spectacles.

"Yes, he is. He's not going on tour so his parents put him here. He's been here the past few days and more helpful than you have ever been, missy."

Will leaned against the wall with a smirk. "Now you know. What's your name, anyway?"

_What a creep. _

"Why aren't you on tour?" She was avoiding the question.

"I've got arachnophobia. No. Really. Yeah. I'm dead scared of spiders. They're _creepy_. Besides, I have a pollen allergy." He took in Tilly's expression- all raised eyebrows. "What?"

"You're admitting you're scared of spiders. And that you have a pollen allergy."

"Yeah. So?"

This time, it was Tilly who smirked.

* * *

"Your lunch is ready, milady." The servant hovered by the iron door to the study, a plate of food in hand.

_Scratch, scratch, rickety-tap. _

"Milady?"

Encra paused in her writing and set her quill down before glancing up for the briefest of moments. "Just put it on the table, please."

She then continued on, pausing only occasionally to dip her quill in her ink or to eye her work critically.

Encra enjoyed writing. She enjoyed all feminine things really, as befitted her role as a princess of Thrienne. Writing was her favourite hobby, though dancing and needlework weren't far behind- and politics, as always, was something she loved.

Combined with her elegance, beauty, and obedient ways, it was easy to see why she was her father's favourite daughter, pursued by legions of suitors, and blissfully unaware of the hatred the peasant-folk bore against her and her family.

Princesses led charming lives. Those of Thrienne, the most populous kingdom in Minecraftia, led more charming lives than the rest. Encra's room in itself was larger than ten peasant's huts combined; a ten-block-high architectural masterpiece of Nether quartz and glowstone and massive arched windows, with walls filled with bookcases and exquisite spider-silk paintings. Seldom did she leave this room even to eat. Her father was perfectly happy with her staying in there so long as she did her studies, anyway, and Encra wasn't one to disobey the king of Thrienne.

(Though she _did_ hear that a couple of gutter children had thrown raw chicken at him while he stood to deliver a speech to the kingdom. The vermin were promptly beheaded- good riddance.)

Thus, as soon as a servant- a different one this time- timidly said that her father needed her in the palace's entrance hall ("to s-see a couple of- of nomads"), she was quick to dismiss her disgust at being asked to speak to _them_, gathered her trailing silk skirts, and brushed past the servant without a word.

* * *

Down flights of stone-brick stairs she floated, keeping her royal graces and sweet-as-sugar smile on even though there was nobody to watch her- down, down, down until she met the fifth floor, whereupon she swerved left through a hallway decorated with gleaming gold pillars, kept straight ahead, turned right, and went down a series of identical stone-brick stairs. She kept her composure as she glided into the entrance hall. There was her father, all right, and her mother who was still looking slightly feverish, and her younger sister Elaina. All were dressed in day-to-day clothing- rich cloaks and dresses in vibrant hues, and crowns adorned with diamonds and lapis and emeralds. Encra adjusted her own iron-and-lapis tiara (graceful as a moa, of course), curtseyed deeply to her parents, nodded at her sister, and turned to face the nomads.

They were nothing special, albeit slightly less worn than the average citizen. Encra inclined her head at them before asking, "Why are _they _here?"

There was an inaudible grumble from a girl around Encra's age- the princess enviously took note of her long, pale purple hair- but a tall and equally long-haired man elbowed her roughly, which made the girl fall silent. He had an axe with him- a large, gleaming, razor-sharp monster of a weapon which had doubtless been used to slay hundreds of mobs in its lifetime.

Ah- no wonder these nomads were invited into the palace. The man was Hugo, famed warrior. The beautiful woman was Eris. As for the relatively normal-looking trio next to them, frankly, Encra had no idea who those were.

"Your Highness," said Hugo in heavily accented Thriennor, glaring at Eris, "my group of nomads and I have come as the bearer of bad news."

Encra and Elaina glanced at each other, brows furrowed in identical expressions of puzzlement.

"Please continue," they said together. If the news was bad enough to bring this bunch over to the heart of Thrienne, then it had to be _horrible_ news. Encra was quite eager to find out. Most news didn't concern her anyway, and neither would this, she suspected.


	3. The Portals Are Open

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Just noticed that my chapters are really short compared to other fanfictions'. ._. This one is a bit longer than the last, but there's quite a bit of waffle in here too, so yeah.** **I'm planning on getting another (hopefully longer) chapter out before the end of this week because us Aussies are on our winter break right now. **

**The culture of FaFM will be explained a bit more in a map I'm working on. It'll be uploaded at .com before the end of this week also.**

* * *

Hugo frowned a little, taking time to think as he attempted the translation from Eravitti to Thriennor. The lesser nobles took this opportunity to whisper amongst each other- impoliteness, and one Encra did not like to see from her people. She silently straightened her back and held her chin just a bit higher.

"Your Highnesses," the Viking finally said, "the lands… south- east, I apologise, of Thrienne have…"

His attempt quickly failed, however, and he glanced at his group, muttering a few words in his native language. They pushed a short figure, one of the nobodies, in front.

"Your Highnesses, the lands east of us have declared peace with the mobs not too long ago. We don't know exactly when the mobs here will hear about this or if they even will, but rest assured, they will be incited to start a rebellion of their own." Her slight accent placed her as from somewhere in the Mid Lands. Encra felt proud for knowing this; her culture lessons had paid off well.

Encra's father stood up straighter and deliberated the woman's words- for the most part in amusement. "How would we know this information is true? And how exactly did this happen?"

By now, everyone was chattering to each other, respect for this bunch lost. Who would be stupid enough to speak such an untruth in front of the King? Netherrack burning for all of them, probably, or at least exile in the Nether. Encra herself raised an eyebrow.

"Because the portals here have reopened, Your Highness. They have been open for a long, long time."

_The portals here have reopened_ echoed around the chamber. They faded away into the crystal ceiling.

Yes, maybe a "reporting of a strange youngling wandering off in the South Swamp" or "a mob who had approached them in a friendly manner." Those were expected. Those were normal. Anything but the words, 'The portals here have reopened.'

That was enough to shatter all disbelief; any claim that the portals had reopened was so serious that not even the stupidest person would make such a claim even in jest. A serious claim. One with uttermost certainty in it.

A silence pinged off the walls, everyone struck dumb mute motionless by this announcement.

Sensing the atmosphere, the nomad bowed deftly, biting her lip. Encra noted that this was a habit which did not make her look any more appealing.

"I'm sure you know what that means. And I'm sure you'll find a lost little child wandering around here before too long, because we found one ourselves."

A scrawny figure, whom Encra had not noticed before, made an odd noise and garbled something in a language she was unfamiliar with.

"Sorry about that. He does that sometimes, shouting nonsense. It's been so long since the portals have done this- we don't know the language anymore."

"Very well. Leave the child here, please." The King paused. "You, prepare these guests rooms. And you kitchen lot, prepare their meal."

The freemen watched as the servants scrambled around, chattering away to each other in a variety of different dialects of Thriennor. The nomads left. Encra stood there, hands locked in position, not quite able to move.

* * *

"Ollie. Hey, wake up." A bucketload of water sloshed over Oliver Hunchen's face, freezingly freezing and the last thing he needed right now. Startled out of a dream, he flailed his arm through the air, hoping to give whoever did this to him an almighty slap.

He had been having the best dream ever. He didn't want to wake up. This was _not on_ right now.

His school was being burned down. By him, no less. Arson. But totally awesome arson, seeing as it was against a school (which should be legal.) Holding a matchbox in the middle of the night, throwing 'em one by one into the building, and watching the epic bonfire…

His clumsy attempt at a slap was blocked by a small, tough hand.

Oliver Ardwu opened his shocking green eyes at last, looking up into the face of his new best friend/brother Mor (who was already dressed in a smart-looking suit).

"I want to something I made yesterday," Mor said, holding the dripping bucket in his hands. "Come over here and I will pay you."

The soaking boy scowled at him, ready to hurl the worst Grim obscenities he knew at the no-lifer, but he was at least smart enough to know that that would not get him anywhere. Mor was persistent and wouldn't hesitate to tell on him in a tick.

He pressed his face into his pillow briefly just to hold on to that dream of his homeland before clambering out of bed and falling flat on his face.

"WHAT THE F*** IS THIS F***ING MONSTROSITY DOING HERE?"

He felt so proud of himself for knowing such a word as _monstrosity_.

Mor stared at him for a while as Ollie realised his mistake.

Eventually, Mor shrugged, fiddled with his backpack strap, and said, "I had no idea what you were."

Oliver hastily reverted back into Grim. "Sorry, panicked and just said random things." Not hastily enough as it seemed, as English slang grammar still seeped into his language and made him leave out his pronouninstead of his verb. How he had forgotten this after living in Grimminy for five years, he did not know.

"No idea what you were then either. Are you all right?"

"I am fine."

Feeling a lump on his nose starting to swell, he glared at the tripwire. "I hate you," he said. He'd put it there yesterday to stop Mor from dousing him with a bucket of water and ironically he had been the one to trip over it himself.

The boys clattered down the fancy quartz stairs, Ollie pausing by the kitchens to grab a loaf of bread, and tumbled out on to the stone-slab street.

"Thank goodness for the weather. I would not have bothered to go outside if it were raining."

"It would ruin your thousand-nihye suit," Oliver laughed.

They made a brisk walk around Aisur's house and turned off to the road leading out of town, exchanging banter along the way. The sandstone palace was nearly complete, with red-wool carpets and towering quartz pillars and hedges decorated with glowstone. A worker had fallen off the building placing window panes the day before. Mor's father had paid his family, and everyone was happy. Ollie finished off his bread and rummaged around in his backpack for cookies. He held out one to Mor, who refused. "It will make me too fat!"

"Whatever." Oliver practically inhaled the snacks.

Mor was quite obviously glad about the silence. Oliver didn't really care.

A few minutes passed in this strange quietness. They turned onto another road unfamiliar to the blonde boy, and just gazed at the sprawling city on the hill below them. The bottom was partly shrouded in long-distance mist but the peaks of the worship place were just in view.

Mor smirked briefly. "Hey Oliver. Zetta's here."

The blonde boy looked to where Mor was staring and choked on his third piece of cocoa heaven, undignified as can be. Oh why did she have to appear right now, when he had a large lump developing on his nose and crumbs all over his face and especially when Mor was standing so handsomely right next to him.

"Hide me," he hissed, but Mor smirked even wider and waved.

"Hey Zetta! Lovely day today, isn't it?"

Some bleeping excuse for a friend.


End file.
